A Shadow in the Night
by Camilla Richard
Summary: This is a little oneshot I wrote told from the perspective of Pierre, Eponine's only friend from her Montfermeil days. It is based on the musical. I love the brick though and no Eppie Sue here. She's actually rather deceptive. Check it out.


Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables, but I wish I did. It's the most beautiful musical in the world.

Author's Note: All right, this is just a little oneshot I couldn't get out of my head. It is solely based on the musical, I'm sorry if that offends anyone. I have read the book as well. It's a complete masterpiece. But this idea just wouldn't leave me alone and it doesn't really fit the book, I'm afraid. I adore Les Miz, but this is my first fic for it. It's short. I won't make you suffer too much. Yes, I am writing about….Eponine. I understand that she is not always the most popular character and I can understand why. In the novel, she is insane. I am going to write about Book! Eponine too, just because she's fascinating. But not likeable..so not likeable. I also want to write a little about Fantine and Cosette eventually. We'll see.

**Effrontery is a form of shame- Victor Hugo**

A Shadow in the Night

She's been dead for three years and sometimes, it's hard for me to believe she is dead at all. In some ways, I guess it's odd that I still think of her so often. After all, I haven't seen her in ages. I suppose I think of her because, even though years have passed, I still have trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that I can't talk to her anymore. That's a funny thing to think about although it probably shouldn't be. I barely saw her at all after she and her family left Montfermeil seven years ago. I still remember the day that she left as if it were yesterday. My parents were never crazy about hers, but they usually let me play with her when we were children. There weren't a lot of children in Montfermeil and she was just about the best friend I could have asked for. Most girls her age would have shied away from getting their hands dirty or rough housing with a boy, but she didn't. She was tough as nails. To this day, I have yet to meet a girl who could match her spunk and energy. But don't get the idea that she was a perfect angel all of time. She wasn't. I can recall a day when we were seven years old. It was one of those glorious spring days when the sky is celestial blue and the flowers are blooming everywhere. I found her sitting on the ground in her front lawn. Her parents ran a tavern on the edge of town and even though I was too young to realize it at the time, their business was not doing well. Of course, things didn't really get bad for her family until both of us had passed our twelfth birthdays. But on this particular spring day, she seemed worry free. She was gazing at a colony of ants running about the ground, as I got closer, I realized that something had distressed them. They were running about aimlessly, as if trying to find a place to stay. It was then that I noticed she had a bucket of water in her hands.

"What are you doing?" I asked her after a few seconds of starring at the ants.

In response to my question, she laughed as if I were silly indeed. "Pierre," she exclaimed, "I'm getting rid of the ant mound. I poured some water on it so that they would leave and it's working, it's really working. It was hard to carry the bucket of water out here, but I did it." Her face took on a sour expression as she went on. "I still think Cosette should have carried the bucket for me. That's her job." Cosette was the maid at Tavern and she was practically my age. At eight years old, she was already carrying out massive household chores, the kind of chores that some grown women would have trouble doing. I didn't know why Cosette was living at the Tavern and no one bothered to tell me either. To this day, I still don't know. Sometimes, I wonder what became of that poor, helpless child. She didn't deserve the treatment she received in Montfermeil.

While I was thinking about Cosette, I felt a touch on my arm and I looked up. "Are you paying attention or not? I just said, I need your help."

I looked up, bringing my friend's image into focus. "Sorry, what do you need help with?"

"Finishing the ants." She replied. "I've only managed to ruin their home and stir them up. I think we ought to kill them. They're such pests. Even Mama thinks their pests and she puts up with lots of things."

I have to admit, I was a little surprised by her eagerness to get rid of the ants. She sounded so determined. I had known her my whole life, but I had never seen her anxious to harm anything. She had always seemed to have a pretty good conscience. As she started to drag the bucket back to the house to get more water, I called out, "Wait, wait. Listen to me for a second."

"What?" she snapped, the weight of the bucket obviously causing her attitude to worsen. I tried to remember what my father had told me when I had felt an overwhelming desire to go and finish off a squirrel in our front yard that was driving me nuts. He had given me an unbelievably long lecture about protecting God's Earth. My father was a woodcutter in Montfermeil so he spent a lot of time in the wilderness with nature. He had all kinds of respect for it.

"Don't kill the ants." I said, "Look, you've already made them homeless today by throwing water onto their nest. Isn't that enough? Do you want to be responsible for ending their lives too? Put yourself in their shoes. How would you feel if you're family went broke and then someone ended up killing you for no good reason? You wouldn't like it."

I could tell by her expression that she was thinking about what I was saying, but I knew her well enough to know she would never admit that she gave my disapproving words a second thought. She was extremely prideful and hated to be wrong about anything. She hated feeling ashamed of herself.

"Pierre," she said, "ants aren't like us. They don't have feelings. You don't know what you're talking about."

"But they are alive! Look, suit yourself but I don't think you ought to do anything to them and I'm certainly not going to help you kill them." I started to get up and leave. This always worked with her. Every time I got angry with her, I would begin to walk away from her. That was all it took to get her to apologize to me. She would say anything to get me to stay with her. I think she hated being alone, but I never asked why. That's another thing I only wish I knew more about now that I am older.

The incident with the ants turned out to be different from some of the previous times I had walked off to leave her. This time, she didn't call my name, didn't plead for me to return to her. She just let me go. I figured she was angrier than she had been in a long while and I came to the conclusion that it would be best to avoid her until she came to find me and apologize. I didn't see her for two days.

Eventually, I decided that I couldn't wait another minute to play with her again. So, without even really thinking about it, I made me way to her parents tavern, running the risk that she might still be angry with me. I opened the door to her home without knocking, just as I always did. Her parents were fine with my constant coming and going. Frankly, I think they were thankful for me. Her mother adored her, but her father couldn't have cared less about her. Even at my young age, I could tell that. Most fathers I knew loved prized their daughters above all else, but not her father, not Monsieur Thenardier. All he prized was money and success. He never realized how lucky he was to have a daughter like her and in the end, he ended up ruining her. He certainly didn't notice my frequent comings and goings. I doubt he would have known my name if you'd asked him. I was just someone there to keep his daughter out of his way.

When I got upstairs, I found her sitting on her bed, looking tired and bored. When she saw me, her face opened and I smiled to myself. Maybe she had gotten over her anger at me after all.

"Pierre!" she cried excitedly, "Pierre, come in and sit down with me. I missed you!" As she spoke these words, she shamelessly threw herself into my arms. I was amazed. She was always so calm and collected. What was wrong with her today? The afternoon only got odder. She seemed so enthusiastic, so happy. I couldn't begin to guess why. But I spent all afternoon with her, playing games and laughing. We asked her sister, Azelma , to come and play with us but she was completely uninterested. Not that mattered to us. We didn't need anyone but each other that afternoon. We acted goofy and ridiculous all afternoon and neither of us the ant incident the entire time I was at her house.

After I had been there a few hours, my father came to get me for dinner. I was reluctant to leave. Just before I left though, a queer thing occurred. I was on my way down the stairs when I heard her call my name one last time.

"Pierre, come back, just for a minute."

I couldn't refuse her. "All right. What is it?"

Her expression was serious. It seemed older than her eight years. Her usually rosy cheeks and wide, lively eyes seemed somber. "Pierre, I want you to know that…that I think you're right about lots of things. You're a really special person and….." she seemed to lose track of what she was trying to say. Instead of trying to finish her thought though, she turned toward me and gave me a quick kiss on my cheek. I still remember how that felt to this day. I was eight years old and by the time I went home that night, I was completely convinced that I was in love. Children are funny like that. They always think that they are going to marry their childhood sweetheart. That evening, after she kissed me, I told her those three words that people seem to toss around meaninglessly these days, "I love you." And I did love her, in my way. I still do. She changed but I'll always remember her as that sweet, innocent little girl who held my hand when times got rough.

As my father and I were leaving her family's tavern that day, I couldn't help but notice that right in the center of her front lawn, there was a thriving colony of ants. I grinned. Somewhere, deep down, I had known she wouldn't have it in her to kill them.

Time passed and we grew older. I began to help my father out more and more and kind of became an apprentice to him. I learned much about the trade of carpentry, but I still made time for her. But she wasn't as happy as she used to be. Her family's business got worse and worse all of the time. She seemed to think that the Tavern was going to go bankrupt and she always seemed a little on edge. I was always telling her to relax. I didn't believe that her father would let himself go broke. I wasn't fond of him, but he was a crafty little man and he always seemed to manage to get himself out of trouble. Well, this time, I couldn't have been more wrong. Just as she predicted, just after I turned twelve, the Tavern went out of business. I was shocked and devastated. Her family was going to move to Paris and look for work there. I was staying in Montfermeil. For the first time I our lives, we were going to be apart.

The night before she left, she made me promise to never forget her. She didn't need to make me promise, I never could forget her, not even if I wanted to. And I have to admit, there have been days when I wanted to. In some ways, it would be easier if I had never known her.

After she left, I tried to lose myself in work. My father was getting older so I did more and more work to help him out all of time. I didn't see her for three years. She was simply a shadow, a memory that passed across my mind on a rather frequent basis. I was hoping that, with time, my thoughts of her would grow less vivid and I would move on. But it wasn't that easy. My parents were actually glad she was gone. I think secretly, they had always believed she was a bad influence on me.

When I was fifteen years old, I was getting a little restless. I had never left Montfermeil before I was begging my parents to at least let me see Paris. Eventually, they consented. They grew tired of my constant pleading. They allowed me to go to Paris for two days, but if was not back after that time, my father would have to come and get me. I agreed to this plan, just thrilled to be able to see something new. At that time, I was not expecting to see her in Paris, although I would have liked to. I had actually managed to push her from my mind.

When I arrived in Paris, I have to admit, I was incredibly overwhelmed. If you've never been there, you wouldn't believe the size of it. It's got to be one of the prettiest places in the world. I remember I when I was sitting in a café, drinking a little something, I felt someone come up behind me and through her arms around my shoulders. "Gotcha!" it shouted. The voice was little rougher than it had once been, but that didn't stop me from recognizing it. I jerked around, desperate to see the face I had been longing to see for years.

"Surprise!" she whispered, "Hello Pierre." At these words, my heart swelled. I had been waiting to hear them for quite a while. I took in every inch of her and realized for the first time just how thin she was now. She didn't look healthy and I could tell by gazing upon her that things had not gone well for her family. She was not dressed well. Her clothing was old and torn. I knew that she must have been ashamed of the way she looked. That was just part of her nature. But she most likely wouldn't admit how ashamed she felt. But I wasn't in the mood to ask her what had happened to her these past three years, I just wanted to hold her and demand that she never leave me again. She was still beautiful to me.

For a few moments, we sat there holding one another close, hardly caring what anyone else thought. She spent the afternoon showing me Paris and telling me what had happened to her these past few years. She and her family had moved into a cheap, horrible place called the Gorbeau tenement, but she didn't tell me what her father did for a living. I don't think she wanted me to know. They only had one neighbor, a young man called Marius Pontmercy. I couldn't tell you why at the time, but I shuddered when I heard that name. I think it was because of the way she said it, as if he were some kind of angel from the heavens. But she only mentioned him once. She mostly focused on me.

As night fell, I used the little bit of money my parents had given me to buy us dinner, and because she insisted on it, a room at one of the smaller inns in town. It was small, but incredibly nice. One of those really old places that's a little run down here and there, but still elegant in its own way. She said she was sure her parents wouldn't miss her for one night. It saddened me to hear the bitterness in her voice when she said this, but I didn't ask her anymore about it. I wish I had asked her more. I always figured I'd have all the time in the world to ask her later. But there wasn't a later.

That night, I didn't worry about the future at all. Originally, we had planned to spend all night talking and being together. But things got a little out of hand. We started out drinking a little and having a good time, but then, like so many years earlier, she leaned in and kissed me. This time though, it was on the lips and there was nothing innocent about it. I know, I know, I should have resisted. But I didn't and I can't look back. I'm actually glad I gave into temptation. That was one of the best nights of my life. I made love to her that night and with my body, I showered her with all of the affection I had wanted to give her the three years we had been separated. Things were blissful until morning came.

When the first light of dawn painted the sky, I awoke to find a note from her in squiggly handwriting. There was no sign of her anywhere. I picked up the note and read its content. It was simple, but devastating. It read as follows: Pierre, darling, forgive me. I used you to get over some of my pain. It was selfish and horribly wrong. I will never use you again. Stay far away from me. You are too good to take the pain that being with me will cause you.-E.R.T.

She had just signed her initials. She had given me no indication of where she was going or if I would ever see her again. I read the note again and again until I practically had it memorized. Every time I read it, it tore through me like a bullet. How had she used me? I didn't understand. But I did know how I could see her again, even if she didn't want me to talk to her. I would find the Gorbeau tenements.

It took me nearly all day to find them, but in the end I didn't even have to go there. I saw what I needed to see before I even got there. She ended up making it really easy for me. I was walking along an alleyway when I saw her. I would have known her figure anywhere. She was standing with an extremely attractive young man. I got close enough to hear her croon the words, "Monsieur Marius" and suddenly, I understood what was going on. She did care for that Marius boy. And the worst part was, I didn't hold a candle to him. I didn't interrupt their conversation. I turned and left. I started back for Montfermeil.

Not long after my trip to Paris, unrest began in the city. My father said that he felt they might have another revolution. He was right. The students were planning to revolt against the French government. My father and I supported their cause, but we didn't truly feel that starting a war was the best thing to do about it. Most likely, the students would be destroyed by the national guard. I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if this Marius were to join the fighting. Would she join as well? Would she risk her life for him?

I didn't have long to think about these questions. The fighting started in the streets of Paris not even six months after I last saw her. My father told me to stay out of it and I did, to honor him. But I never stopped worrying, wondering if she was all right. Eventually, I received news that the barricades had fallen, the rebels had lost, just as my father had predicted they would. At this point, I couldn't contain myself any longer. I had to see who had been killed. I was secretly hoping that Marius Pontmercy would be among the dead, even though I knew it was wrong to feel that way. So the night after the barricades fell, I snuck out in the middle of the night and headed for Paris.

About midnight, I arrived in the city. It was just as beautiful as I remembered it. It was also remarkable peaceful for a city that had just gone through some major battles in the past few days. But as I approached the area of the city where the fighting had taken place, I was overcome by the pungent smell of carrion and rotting meat. I had to fight the urge to vomit a few times and I almost turned back, but thinking of her kept me going. I had to see everything for myself.

I came to a small barricade and beside it was a disgusting, ominous pile of human bodies. I almost turned around right there. I wasn't sure I could take it. But I forced myself to walk a little closer. It was a pile of men around my age. My body filled with grief when I saw them. It was heart shattering. They had hardly lived at all. Just as I was about to walk away, something at the bottom of the pile caught my eye. It was a woman. The only woman in this pile of bodies. Although it was a dreadful thing to do, I managed to drag her body away from the others. I would have been better off not looking. The second I stared at that unfortunate corpse, there was no doubt in my mind who it was. Right there, in the middle of the Paris streets, I burst into sobs. Why had she done it? She gave up her life for a cause she knew nothing off. I just couldn't understand it. It wasn't even logical. I still don't know for sure what made her do what she did, but my guess is that it had something to do with Marius Pontmercy. But I never bothered to find out for sure, I am not sure I want to know. I returned to Montfermeil in time for breakfast and told my father that I had been out taking an early morning walk in the area. I'm not sure he believed me, but he didn't comment. I was thankful for that. I didn't want to talk about what had happened. I always have trouble looking at happy couples, even my parents sometimes. It always makes me play the "what could have been" game. But that's a fool's game, a waste of time. She's dead and I will never see her again, never hold her in my arms, never kiss her. I will never again tell her that I love her. She will be nothing more than a dark shadow that passes across my dreams at night. Eponine is gone.

**AN- My first Les Miserables oneshot. I hope you liked it.**


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